


Rare Sentiments

by Calacious



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred's P.O.V., Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Nostalgia, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 18:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17248865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: Alfred muses on the changes that Richard Grayson has brought into Master Bruce's and his life as he supervises the two making gingerbread people.





	Rare Sentiments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suerum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suerum/gifts).



> Sorry this is too late to be a proper Christmas present. 
> 
> I hope that you enjoy this...Happy New Year!

It’s rare for Bruce Wayne to initiate anything that remotely resembles holiday preparations nowadays. Alfred can count Master Bruce’s involvement in holiday prep on one hand. Of course all of them had occurred when Master Bruce had been just a boy. Bruce had generally left that sort of thing to Alfred and the staff after the fateful night which had taken his parent’s lives. 

But this year is different, and Alfred’s eyes crinkle around the edges with delight as he watches Master Bruce with young Richard ( _ “Call me, Dick, Alf.” _ ) Grayson. The young lad had entered their lives like a whirlwind of joy and youthful entertainment, in spite of his heavy loss. He’d done his best to hide his sorrow from Master Bruce and Alfred, but they had by no means been blind to it. They’d simply let him hide and deal with his grief on his own timeline and in his own way. 

It was Master Bruce whom the boy had eventually sought comfort in when waking from a particularly terrible nightmare involving his parents’ deaths. Alfred, more exhausted than he’d been in a long time, had stood within the shadows and watched the look of awkward confusion on Master Bruce’s face melt into a kind, compassionate understanding as he gathered the boy into his arms and whispered something into Richard’s ear that made the boy nod and then cling to his guardian. It had warmed Alfred’s heart and he filed the memory away to look back on after he’d gotten more sleep. He hadn’t seen Master Bruce that open since the young man had been a boy. It was as disconcerting as it was heartening. There was hope that the darkness which often clouded Master Bruce’s life since his parents’ deaths could be lifted. 

Alfred smiles as the memory of the first night Master Richard had been comforted by Master Bruce sparks memories of other times, and brings him full circle to the memory that’s currently being forged by his adhoc family. Funny, he’d never really given thought to having a family of his own over the years. It’s not something he’d particularly wanted, but watching Master Bruce, the boy he had a small hand in raising, with Master Richard, Alfred is happy that he chose this life over that of a family man. This, Master Bruce and Master Richard, is his family and he wouldn’t change that for the world. 

“Alfie,” Master Richard calls, stirring Alfred out of his state of bittersweet nostalgia. “We’re making gingerbread people!”

“I can see that, Master Richard,” Alfred says, a small smile pulling up the corners of his lips. “Mind that you put that flour in the bowl rather than on the counter.”

Richard’s eyes grow wide, and he twists back around toward the bowl. He blushes when he sees that a small portion of the flour that Bruce had measured out for him has indeed fallen onto the counter. 

“Oops,” he says, tongue sticking out in an endearing way as he concentrates on dumping the remainder of the flour into the bowl. 

Bruce has a fond look on his face, his lips are turned up slightly at the corners. Alfred can’t remember the last time he’d seen the younger man truly smile before Richard had come into their lives; outside of the fake smiles he sported for charity functions and work, that is. It’s a rare moment and Alfred’s fingers itch for a camera to capture this moment in more than his own faulty memories. 

Instead, he offers a less guarded smile of his own, and steps into the kitchen, mentally cataloguing the mess that the two have managed to make in the short time that they’ve been there. His sigh is internal, though he does shake his head and nods when Bruce gives him a sheepish, apologetic look. 

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Bruce says. 

Alfred nods. “And when was the last time that you made gingerbread people?”

Bruce blinks at him, mouth turning downward at the corners as he racks his memory for the answer to Alfred’s question. It’s quite comical, and Alfred takes pity on the man that he’s come to think of as his son. He pats Bruce’s arm and smiles.

“Never mind,” he says at the flustered look on Bruce’s face. “Would you two mind too terribly if an old man joined you in your baking?”

Richard spins around so quick from his perch on top of the stool that he nearly unsettles himself and Bruce absentmindedly, like any good father would do, places a steadying hand on Richard to keep him from falling (not that the boy would fall, he’s much too graceful for that). His blue eyes are lit with eagerness and excitement and love, and Alfred’s throat tightens with emotion. 

“You’re not  _ that _ old,” Richard says, giving Alfred a once over before he spins around again. 

The look on Bruce’s face -- exasperation, fondness, love, a touch of fear -- is another one that Alfred wishes he could capture, but cameras don’t capture such subtlety of emotion well, and Alfred doubts that Bruce would appreciate the flash of a camera at the moment. Or any moment for that matter. Outside of the public image that he has to maintain, Bruce is reluctant to pose for the camera. He has been since before he was Richard’s age. Family photos were planned well in advance as it had taken a near monumental effort to get Bruce to consent to sitting still long enough for a decent picture.

“Thank you, Master Richard,” Alfred says. Coming from an eight year old, that is a rare compliment. 

Richard turns around and offers him a toothy smile. “It’s just the truth,” he says. “You want to put the next cup of flour in?”

“I think I’ll just supervise,” Alfred says, not wanting to steal any of Richard or Bruce’s enjoyment.

Alfred does just that, supervises father and son in their first attempt at making gingerbread people together. It’s after Christmas (Bruce and Batman had been busy during the days leading up to Christmas), but that doesn’t diminish any of the joy that permeates the kitchen, doesn’t make Alfred’s heart swell with pride and love for Bruce and Richard any less. 

The cookies come out of the oven slightly burnt, or under-cooked, but some are just right, and those are the ones that Richard and Bruce, under Alfred’s strict supervision, decorate with icing that Alfred conceded to make when the icing Bruce had made turned out too lumpy. He brings out candy that had been hidden away (Richard’s sweet tooth is already legendary and he’s only been with them a short while). While Richard and Bruce are engaged in adding the finishing touches on their gingerbread people (many of which are more than a little deformed, Alfred will make more later), he sneaks away to get his camera. 

He takes several candid shots before he’s caught in the act. He merely smiles at Bruce’s look of betrayal and raises an eyebrow as he takes another shot of Bruce, icing smeared across one of his cheeks, flour in his hair and eyebrows. Richard’s eyes are sparkling with the joy of youth, and Alfred’s heart slams itself into his throat when Richard turns away from the gingerbread person he’d been giving gumdrop buttons to, and throws his arms around Bruce’s middle to smother Bruce with a hug that makes Alfred think of an octopus.

Bruce’s eyes are comically wide in shock, his mouth gaping open, as he looks over at Alfred, eyes full of questions that Alfred knows he doesn’t need to answer. Outside of seeking comfort after a nightmare, Richard has not given his guardian (his father, truth be told) an impromptu hug before now. Alfred has a feeling that this impromptu hug will be the first of many to come, now that the boy is more comfortable with Bruce. 

When he’s printed out the photos, days later, Alfred chooses to frame that one, and the one that came directly after that where Bruce’s arms are wrapped around his young ward (son in all the ways that count). His cheek is resting on Richard’s dark head of hair, which is dusted with flour and sparkling with glittery green and red sprinkles (how the boy had managed to get them in his hair is a mystery that will go forever unsolved; not even Bruce had been able to enlighten Alfred when he’d asked after it later that evening) and a smattering of blue icing. The look in Bruce’s eyes is one that Alfred will treasure for years to come -- unadulterated love and contentment -- a look he’s never seen in his young charge before, but one he hopes that he’ll see again and again now that Richard is in their lives.  


End file.
